


The Boy Who Licked

by timothysboxers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Coffee Shop, Custard Buns, Flirting, Flustered Draco Malfoy, Forward Harry Potter, Getting Together, H/D Food Fair 2018, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Inconvenient Boners/Erections, Insults, Licking, M/M, Meddling Pansy Parkinson, Oral Abuse of Baked Goods, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-07-17 11:54:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16095149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timothysboxers/pseuds/timothysboxers
Summary: Draco Malfoy is doing well for himself: he has paid his dues, enjoys his work at the Ministry, and has his feelings safely in check regarding a certain Auror Potter, thank you very much. That is, until he bears witness to the obscene things the man can do with his tongue and a custard filled bun...





	The Boy Who Licked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaesterChill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaesterChill/gifts).



> For Prompt #[90](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1E_uQJlIb5C6nLnMg8VrUUnrKtyx16is1FLbyvoxLEik/edit): Custard Filled Donuts - prompted by [MaesterChill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maesterchill/).
> 
> —
> 
> Thanks to the lovelies who helped along the way. (Proper credits after reveals.)
> 
> —

Draco looked down at his wrist, scowling at the face of his enchanted watch telling him that Pansy was waiting in the Atrium cafe. It was a neat little standing appointment that they both enjoyed. It had the dual benefit of forcing Draco out for an early lunch once a fortnight and making sure he kept in touch with her. Grabbing his blazer off its hanger, he made his way to the lifts.

He frowned at the notion that his punctuality might be slipping slightly, though the thought couldn't quell the happiness that had been building over the past months. Since taking a position within the Department for International Magic Cooperation, in its International Magical Trading Standards Body, Draco had rather come to enjoy working at the Ministry. The world of Magical Standards offered him several new forums where he could showcase his charismatic nature and knowledgeable approach to his specific area of interest—potion ingredients and equipment.

It had been hard going working to earn back some standing within the magical community for himself and his family. He had faced his own crimes on trial, faced the press coverage of his family's crimes following his father's imprisonment, personally and voluntarily pitched in with the rebuild efforts at Hogwarts, completed his NEWTs through the _Eighth Year_ program, and emerged at the other end: the scroll in his hand as proof that he was more than the sum of his past.

Of course there was the occasional sideward glance, an unapologetic shove or jostle in the Ministry lifts or in the shops on Diagon Alley, and even a Howler or two; but Draco rose above all of it. He kept his mask firmly in place, showing them all that he was no longer willing to descend into the fracas and play dirty games for the sake of their _front-page-above-the-fold_ coverage. He had learned early that the press was ever-present and persistent: he himself had sold titillating tales to Skeeter about Potter, even if it did feel like that was a lifetime ago.

The Atrium seemed busier than usual as he made his way across the floor to the recently opened cafe. Sure, it was much more convenient than the rigmarole of organising a _visitor's pass_ every time you wanted to grab a bite with a non-ministry employee, but for Merlin's sake—the very name of it was an affront. _Espresso Patronum._ Draco rolled his eyes as he walked through the doors watching as the logo showed a wand conjuring a corporeal Patronus shaped like a steaming takeaway cup. _Utter proletarian nonsense_.

His eyes scanned the room briefly before spotting her at one of their usual corner tables, and smiling, he made his way over. At the sight of him, Pansy stood and opened her arms expectantly. Draco stooped slightly to embrace her, kissing her cheek.

"Draco," she smiled, "I've ordered your usual because I'm on a time limit today." She sat down and fussed with the clasp on her bag. "Ms Waters has me running across to the other end of London for some reason or other. Some nonsense really. Oh, you know that I love working in fashion design; I just wish it was more about me drawing designs than running errands..."

Draco sat and dutifully listened to her rant. She had done the same for him on numerous occasions: covering off everything from scurrilous lies and personal attacks in _the Prophet_ to pseudo-political trade sanctions and faulty automated equipment. He knew he didn't really need to say anything. Pansy didn't need him to fix her problems; just to listen, and let them go.

The other benefit to letting Pansy talk was that Draco was able to idly observe the general patronage of the cafe. He recognised a few other Ministry workers; people he saw in the lifts or around the corridors.

Those aside, of _most notable interest_ , was a lone diner tucked away in a quiet corner, staring out into the Atrium through the tinted glass of the cafe's window. The ridiculous mess of hair paired with unmistakable deep red Auror's robes: Robes that were hanging neatly off broad, squared shoulders and shrouding a flat-planed back. A back that Draco was uncomfortably familiar with for the worst possible reasons.

 _Potter_.

Draco realised too late that he had gotten entirely too distracted pondering _why_ Potter was alone in the cafe—the staff had a perfectly good canteen inside the Ministry—Pansy had stopped talking, and she was now holding a cup of tea. He cast a momentary downward glance and was frightened out of his own skin by an avocado and camembert sandwich which seemed to have appeared of its own accord in front of him.

When he jumped back with a start, he heard Pansy snickering into her tea. She levelled him with a smirk, "I don't even have to _turn around_ to know that Harry Potter is sitting in this cafe." She exhaled into her tea, causing the steam to billow and lightly fog the lenses on her statement glasses. "You were off for a good five minutes too, you besotted prat."

"Shut up," Draco muttered in response, directing his attention to his sandwich, turning one half over in his hand and noting irritably that it was cut on a crooked diagonal. He felt a flush creeping up his neck.

Pansy deliberately slurped her tea in a manner Draco found most objectionable. "I shan't," she teased, "until you _admit_ that you fancy him and just ask him out already. Or at least make a pass at him so you can fuck him out of your system."

Draco inhaled sharply and promptly choked on his sandwich, his eyes widening in alarm. "By the grace of Salazar," he rasped, "keep your voice down, you uncouth bint! I do not _fancy_ Potter."

"Oh leave off, Draco," she sighed. "It's such old news that you fancy Potter it'll be printed in the next edition of _Hogwarts: A History!_ "

In a bid to avoid saying something he would later regret, Draco took a large bite of his sandwich and fixed Pansy with a sinister glower. He could feel its effectiveness wane as the flush coloured the tips of his ears.

She continued to smirk at him as they both ate in silence. Draco did not dare chance another glance toward where Potter was sitting. The woman had hawk-eyes and a wicked streak a mile wide. He supposed they were _arguably_ endearing qualities, though considerably less so when turned against him.

"This has gone on long enough; you danced around each other and stared longingly and distractedly at each other through practically every class and meal during Eighth Year. I know you've been doing the same here too. You could just try _talking to him_ , you know," Pansy stated all-too-plainly, making a show of wiping breadcrumbs off her hands.

"You could just try _shutting the fuck up_ , you know," Draco quipped, a smile creeping onto his face.

She held her hands up in mock resignation, "Fine, fine, but at least think about it?"

"Only if _you_ think about it _too_ ," he agreed as his eyes quickly darted back to where Potter had been sitting. A cold chill of anxiety pulsed through him when he found Potter still present.

"Deal," she said, calmly collecting her bag and standing.

Draco followed in turn, standing and smoothing his blazer and trousers. "I'm glad we came to this understanding; let's hear no more about it," he nodded resolutely as he embraced her and planted a goodbye kiss on her cheek.

Pansy began walking toward the door, but before Draco could stop her, she had deviated slightly toward where Potter was sitting. He made a grab for her elbow, but she was too fast.

"Potter!" she barked, and Draco watched in horror as Potter's frame stiffened and his head and torso whipped around to face the source of the brash address. "Here!" she jerked her head toward Draco.

" _Pans!"_ Draco squeaked in mortification, colour flooding his face again.

She stifled a laugh and whispered, "I said I'd _think_ about shutting the fuck up, darling." Her shoulders shook with silent laughter. "Well, I thought about it; and I decided it's not for me!"

Pansy blew Potter a kiss and trotted out of the cafe leaving Draco standing mouth agape; listening in disbelief as her heels and maniacal cackle echoed through the Atrium, all-the-while flatly refusing to meet a very curious green-eyed gaze.

"Uh, Malfoy?" Potter had turned in his chair, angling his body to the side so he wasn't craning his neck to look at Draco.

Draco had little to no idea just how long he had been standing in the cafe staring at a very interesting spot on the floor. He had rather hoped that by standing absolutely still people would assume he had turned to stone and just ignore him. Draco was sure there were eyes on him from all directions and conversations had been reduced to dull whispers in his immediate proximity. Potter was still staring at him and in his periphery Draco surmised the man was sporting a concerned expression.

"Draco," Potter questioned tentatively, "are you alright?"

The use of his given name was like a slap to the brain. His head snapped up and he locked eyes with Potter.

"Fine, Potter, thanks ever so," he spat out and immediately regretted his tone. Potter bristled slightly in response but said nothing, and Draco found that the urge to disintegrate into a million grains of stardust was quickly replaced with something else. Something about the look on Potter's face had Draco perplexed: a mixture of frustration, concern, and ... _longing_ —surely not.

The truth was, Draco didn't really know _what_ to do with Potter on any given day. It was a big part of the reason he just avoided Potter wherever possible. The expectation that he should be able to focus while Potter was around was unreasonable at best. Potter had always demanded his attention, whether he meant to or not. He had always been the one person who managed to undo Draco’s defences and make him drop his mask without even trying.

"Malfoy, sit down would you? People are staring," Potter's tone was hushed, but imploring.

Draco didn't move.

"Or, I mean, feel free to stand there gawping at the floor like a lobotomised troll," Potter folded his arms irritably and raised his voice slightly, "once you get bored and wander off I'll be sure to vanish the drool."

"Insufferable prat," Draco mumbled, pulling out a chair and dropping into it with a resigned sigh. "What do you want, Potter?"

Potter studied him briefly and Draco felt himself shrinking involuntarily under his scrutiny.

"Shouldn't I be asking _you_ that question," he said as the corners of his mouth quirked up slightly. "Even for you, that was a pretty elaborate way to get someone's attention, though it rather seems Parkinson got too much enjoyment out of—"

"I didn't _want_ your attention!" Draco squeaked, surprised at the pitch of his own voice as Potter's smile broadened, displaying his supple lips and the slightest hint of teeth. Draco could not stand to look at him like that—his lips all smiley and inviting, and the lower one encrusted with what looked like powdered sugar—and instead focussed on what was on the table in front of him. A half-empty cup of coffee, black as the night and most likely unsweetened, and a small iced bun, dusted with powdered sugar on the sides with the exception of a few finger-patches, probably from where Potter had handled it.

"Parkinson seemed under the impression that you did, unless she's just generally in the habit of barking at people she went to school with and offloading her friends in a socially awkward fashion?" He picked up the coffee cup and swirled the contents before taking a sizeable gulp, scrunching his nose after as if he didn't really like it.

Draco shook his head as his felt his mouth involuntarily curve upward. _'Merlin, this is not happening to me right now,'_ he thought in disbelief. He was _not_ sitting in the public cafe at the Ministry, with Potter, making smalltalk and exchanging witticisms. He took a steadying breath. "Auror training has done _wonders_ for your perceptive abilities, Potter."

"I suppose it has," Potter laughed. "It's done rather a lot for me, actually."

 _Laughing_. That was a new sound; well, not entirely new. Draco had been on the receiving end of Potter's laughter previously, but it had been mocking and cruel and had too much to do with _ferrets_. This laughter was different; the kind Potter reserved for his friends or a relaxed interview on the WWN's _Evenings with Estrelda_ program.

"Not dissimilar, I suppose, to what your work in International Magic Trading Standards has done for you," Potter continued, running a hand through his hair. "Robards was rather impressed with the level of detail in the report you provided for that case with the unstable phials. Talked about it for a quite a while, though I suppose you would have already heard that anyway, huh? I hear you've been selected to speak at the upcoming symposium..."

Potter was rambling. Draco looked up and met his gaze briefly and instantly regretted it. Potter looked _nervous_ , and was biting his bottom lip. It was moist now, and the sugar that was there earlier was gone. He must have licked it, Draco supposed.

"Potter," Draco interjected, "you're rambling."

"Am not," Potter returned almost too quickly, a light flush colouring his cheeks.

Draco felt a flash of confidence as he raised an eyebrow in question. "Potter, you've just asked me several questions and conveyed thanks on behalf of Robards for a job I did for the Aurors more than six months ago, all without providing me an opportunity to respond. That is practically the _definition_ of rambling."

Potter's mouth opened momentarily as if he meant to respond. Instead, he picked up his coffee cup and took another large gulp. Practically wincing and setting the cup roughly back onto the table, he turned to face Draco. "And here I was thinking I was having a conversation Malfoy, like people do, like _adults_ do," he shook his head, "we are adults, you know; we went to school together, and we essentially work together."

"Five points from Gryffindor for stating the obvious," Draco drawled.

"Merlin, _how_ do you manage to make the simplest of things so _difficult_?" Potter's hands twitched in ire.

 _Difficult!_ Merlin, if Potter wanted to talk about making things difficult, he ought to look at his own behaviour first. Potter had made a great many simple things difficult for Draco, even if he was largely oblivious to it.

The stupid way he scrunched his nose after drinking his black-as-sin coffee— _just sweeten it you utter dolt_ —had made every morning difficult. And the not-so-subtle way he would slip his hands into his armpits after Quidditch and then sniff them, with a goofy smile on his face, before heading off to the showers had made many nights _very_ difficult.

"Call it an aptitude Potter," he sniffed, "though if it's the same to you, I'll take my leave— _and my difficulties_ —and let you be. I'll be sure Parkinson owls her apology for this inconvenience." Draco stood to leave, and was startled to feel a warm hand take hold of his wrist. Draco looked down at Potter, who was looking up at him with the same expression he wore earlier.

"Malfoy, that's not what I meant..." Shadows flashed behind Potter's bright green eyes as though something was trying to find a way out. "Stay and have a coffee with me? Maybe a custard bun too?"

He turned the words over in his head a few times; it wasn't the most objectionable offer he had ever been extended. He could also bet his life that if Pansy ever found out that he had been made such an offer and _turned it down_ that she would likely fashion an evening clutch purse from a rather sensitive area of his person.

Sharing a hot beverage with a colleague or acquaintance wasn't _that_ strange, he supposed. Father and mother had both done precisely that on numerous occasions during his upbringing. The biggest problem here was that he and Potter could scarcely manage five minutes in each other's company without managing to rile each other, and the stupidest thing was he almost _missed_ that about Potter.

When he had round the clock access to Potter during their school years, he had enjoyed laying subtle—and not so subtle—traps to bait the prat, and had often enjoyed the reactions he got. They had been stupid teenagers then, and it was just something they did. Now, things had changed and they had very adult lives which came with very adult behavioural expectations; and coffee degenerating into a Wizard's duel in the middle of the Ministry's cafe just would not do.

"I shouldn't have said anything," Potter sounded crestfallen, "I'll let you get back..."

Potter's voice startled him, and Draco jerked his wrist back from his grasp. The skin still felt warm from where Potter had held it, and Draco rubbed it lightly with his free hand.

"No, Potter, it's fine," Draco sighed, re-taking his seat. "I'll stay, but I have already eaten, so no bun, and I'd rather a peppermint tea instead of coffee, thanks."

Potter's brow furrowed. "Are you sure? They're bloody brilliant; filled with custard, or jam, or caramel, or even chocolate."

Draco cast his eye over the bun on the plate again and all told, it did look rather good. He wasn't going to cave though. "As tasty as your bun looks, I'll have to leave it. They look rather messy, actually. Don't let that stop you enjoying yours though."

"Oh, it won't," Potter smirked as he stood and crossed the floor to the register to order their drinks.

With a brief moment to himself, Draco wondered what on earth Potter was angling for. He had made his own internal peace with the realisation that they would likely have to inhabit the same spaces for their entire lives. Working for the Ministry was a simple and logical choice, even if it did mean Potter was always going to be close by.

He had done his best to be polite but not friendly with Potter, and it seemed to work. They crossed paths occasionally during official duties and the mandatory functions; and they exchanged ordinary pleasantries and moved on.

At first it was hard to limit interaction with someone he was so naturally drawn to. As time went on, he got better at it, and he thought he had a good handle on it now. Pansy, and now Potter, it seemed had other ideas about how much time they should be spending together.

Potter returned to the table, and he had a small paper bag with him. "I know you said you didn't want one," Potter started, sitting down again, "but you might like to keep it for later, yeah? I'm telling you, they're _really_ good."

Draco couldn't help but laugh, and the sound seemed to surprise Potter as much as he surprised himself. "Salazar, they'd want to pay you a commission." Draco shook his head, "I still think they look messy. You of all people probably need a bib so you don't end up wearing the filling."

Potter chuckled, licking his lips. "Not if you eat them the right way."

"I can't believe I'm asking this," Draco began, his heart suddenly beating wildly inside his chest, "but I can tell you're _dying_ to tell someone: What is the _right way_ to eat these buns?"

Potter's eyes immediately found his, and Draco's breath stuck in his throat. His pupils were wide behind his glasses, and the lightest of pink coloured his cheeks. He still looked uncertain though he found his resolve and deftly plucked the bun from the plate where it had been resting.

"You see, Malfoy, the critical thing with these," Potter said factually, rotating the small bun in his hands, scrutinising it thoroughly, "is that there's a hole—"

Draco gasped slightly at Potter's words. He was still watching the man's eyes; green orbs darting back and forth from the bun to his face as he was searching one of them for something.

"—where they jab the bun to pipe in the filling." Potter stopped turning the bun and offered a side of it to Draco. "And when you eat one, your first bite should be over the hole, so the filling doesn't squirt out. Like this."

Draco watched, eyes widening, as Potter raised the bun's _hole_ to his mouth, lightly flicking his tongue across the opening. He slowly dove deeper, the sugar from its surface getting on his bottom lip again, as his tongue stretched the taut opening in the dough, revealing the custard inside. A small shower of powdered sugar fell from the bun, drifting to the table.

Potter's gaze drifted up to meet Draco's, and Draco was alarmed by the amount of heat it held. He felt his own face starting to colour as he watched Potter, now scooping small amounts of custard out of the bun with his tongue. The pale yellow coloured his upper lip, and the tip of his tongue. His skillful tongue that circled, flicked across and dipped within the bun; causing a stream of images to appear unbidden in Draco's mind.

Draco quickly cast his eyes around the cafe, horrified at the thought the other patrons might bear witness to Potter's custard-fueled debauchery. Surprisingly, nobody seemed to notice or care what Potter was doing.

Potter moaned slightly, and Draco's gaze returned in time to watch his heavy eyelids flutter closed. Draco could hardly bear to watch—but he could no longer look away—and his mouth had gone alarmingly dry. _Where the fuck was that cup of tea!_

Exhaling, Potter grunted a low breathy sound steeped in salacious filth that went straight to Draco's cock. Which—Draco was suddenly aware—was achingly hard, and he wasn't even sure when that had happened. All he was sure of at that moment was Potter needed to put this _party trick_ to better use, much better use.

Finally, Potter lowered the bun from his lips. His mouth twisted up in a smirk before he slowly sank his teeth into the soft spongy dough, ripping it apart and littering the tabletop with powdered sugar and shards of icing.

"Potter, what is this..." words failed Draco.

"I'd be happy to explain _exactly_ what this is..." Potter's voice was heavy and deep, carrying a mixture of custard, sugar and _lust_ , "in a private demonstration... at mine, or yours, as you please."

"Oh," Draco nodded slowly, realisation of exactly what had been offered to him spreading warmth from his brain, down his chest, and into his gut. The carousel of images had returned to his mind, and before he could stop it, his mouth betrayed him with "Yours, please."

Standing up suddenly, Potter's chair skidded backward noisily. "Mine, then. Let's go!"

"Easy for you to say Potter," Draco snapped, shifting his whole body in the chair. "Those robes of yours must, uh, probably cover a multitude of sins! I'm going to need a good few minutes before—"

"Nope!" Potter grabbed Draco's hand, hauling him to his feet. "Waited long enough! And bring that extra bun, Malfoy, I have plans for that."

"Potter!" Draco squeaked as he was dragged from the chair, trying unsuccessfully to walk and inconspicuously cover his bulging crotch with the paper bag he was clutching. "You utter miscreant; I could kill you!"

Draco could feel the eyes of the other patrons of the cafe on them as Potter gleefully dragged him out the door and across the Atrium toward the Floos. Five minutes with Potter and a custard bun and all his carefully constructed composure had crumbled like the cafe’s week-old shortbread. The mirthful sounds of Potter's laughter began to grow on him, as a thought formed in his mind: If this is what spending time with Potter could sound like, perhaps it was worth getting a little messy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](https://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/151843.html).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Fanart] The Boy Who Licked](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17441894) by [MaesterChill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaesterChill/pseuds/MaesterChill)




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